


A Fire Inside

by horreurdoll (orphan_account)



Category: AFI
Genre: Crossdressing, Gender Identity, teenage!Davey Havok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/horreurdoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Davey goes shopping. 90s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fire Inside

**Author's Note:**

> First fic on AO3. 
> 
> Teenage!Davey Havok. Slight AU. Before the band, at the bands inception. He knows Jade.

But it was here that Davey was different from all the other boys.

 

True, he wasn’t like Jade, who was all boyish hips and delicate pixie features. Davey was a bit bigger, a bit _brawnier_ , one could say. Not like the boys on the football team, but a match, say, to the boys on the lacrosse team. Lean. Wiry.

 

It was probably all of those protein supplement shakes his mom had bought him when she was freaking out over Davey becoming a vegetarian.

 

He loved his mom, he really did. Like his father, she worried about him. A lot. But unlike his father, whatever boundaries he wanted to push, his mom let him push those boundaries with full support.

///

 

He hadn’t told his dad that he was going to the mall today, because it was _here_ that Davey differed from all the other boys.

 

They’d had the eyeliner argument before. It was painful. Rough.

 

His mom had been sweet about it. More of, “Davey, what are you _doing?_ ” “Are you all right, dear?” “No, dear, not like that. You’re doing it wrong. Here, let me show you.”

 

Not, “Jesus Christ, Penny, what the _hell_ is going on?” “Absolutely not. Boys don’t wear eyeliner. Boys don’t wear make up.” “But they’re gay. He’s gay. _He’s gay_.” “You don’t play any sports, you’re not president of anything, and now you start wearing makeup. And you wonder why kids don’t like you.” “I’m serious, Penny. You’re letting him wear make up and you’re wondering why he gets beat up everyday.”

 

His dad would flip a shit if he knew why he was going to the mall today. 

///

 

He had to duck behind a row of perfume bottles to avoid being seen by Them.

 

Because they’d ask him what he was doing here, and he sure as hell wasn’t trying to snag the latest Air Jordans in his size.

 

Today’s clan wasn’t all barbarians. There were a couple lady barbarians along for the ride as well. Basketball guys and basketball girls. Big, strong, abrasive girls that could snap Davey’s arms off like that of a flimsy Barbie doll.

 

When the moment passed, when They passed by, Davey let out a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding.

///

 

Well this was fan-fucking-tastic, he decided. He should of thought of this beforehand. As in, not as it all happened.

 

It was the kind of department store where you get a number—the number of garments you’d like to try on—and _then_ go inside the stall.

 

Not a single graphic tee or pair of badass rugged alligator-wrangling cowboy jeans in sight.  Only sheer tops with lace. Lots of it. And a pair of sheer nylon stockings to accompany his…

 

Skirt.

 

Hands shaking, Davey grabs a bunch of basketball jerseys from a nearby clearance rack and threw in a snapback sporting a picture of Tupac for good measure.

///

 

“How many items?”

 

“Um, eight?” Davey says with conviction, scanning the fabricated haul in his arms to determine the number of items that he had. Stay calm. Stay cool. Stay collected, Davey Marchand. You better not freak. Now is not the time to be freaking out.

 

He saw the falter in  woman’s smile as he eyes traced over his load. He shifted his stance, his weight, his anything, trying to hide the lace and the stockings and the skirt underneath B-ball mesh and a testament to the ‘hood life.

 

“Men’s dressing rooms over there,” she says sharply, emphasizing the first and last words with grave weight. Davey hustles into a stall and locks himself in tight, but not before the woman’s icy expression chills him to his never-hollow never-birdlike bones.

 

He takes a moment to breathe.

 

To let his own sick glee pool in his stomach.

 

To let the threatening blush creep up his neck. Up his cheeks. Up into the brown roots of his slick, lustrous almost blue-black hair. Because mousy, basic brown didn’t really go well with a badass devil lock down the front of your face.

///

 

Davey stripped the jeans off calmly.

 

It took a bit of effort. Davey doesn’t wear badass rugged alligator-wrangling cowboy jeans. He wears girls’ jeans. Mudd jeans that hold his toned in legs tight. Mudd jeans that sometimes sport flowers along the seams. Mudd jeans that flare at the ankle.

 

But he likes them just the same.

 

Once he got the jeans off, everything else was a piece of cake. He’d been trying on his mom’s stockings for as long as he can remember, so he’s not worried about the tights. He’s a women’s five, he’s absolutely certain.

 

But it’s the _skirt_ that’s bound to be a bit more interesting.

 

It’s a pencil skirt. Straight, femme, classic. Conservative.

 

No ripped denim minis to make Britney Spears swoon, no terry cloth pledge of allegiance to the Beverley Hills. No black canvas, buckle-bedecked bondage bottoms. No flowing, free, fair trade free love tiered patchwork sheath.

 

A plain, black skirt. Just above the knee. Simple. Respectable.

///

 

With baited breath Davey stepped into it. Pulled it up over his modest thighs and respectable hips. He fumbled momentarily with the zipper in the back before lifting up the hem of his black tee shirt, in order to examine his handiwork.

 

He looked good. He looked

 

Yeah.

 

 _Hell yeah_. Hell yeah, motherfucker. He actually looked _good_.

 

He wasn’t rail-thin or delicate or _pretty_ like Jade, but he was fucking fabulous. He was fucking beautiful.

 

He had _curves_. Moderate, moderate curves. As much curvaceousness as he could afford being a picky little vegan bitch, but he filled out the skirt nicely.

 

Damn. 

 

And to think that he had been nervous this whole time. Davey chuckled to himself, and then, pulling off his shirt, he proceeded to try on the rest of the tops.

 

///

 

Lace. Lots of it.

 

Black lace. Red lace. White lace. Floral lace. Lace all up in his face.

 

Davey was in a light-hearted mood yet, preening and prancing in front of the dimly lit department store mirrors. Fuck friends, man. Why hang out with friends when you can spend an hour in the department store, looking at yourself in nice frilly underthings?

 

He bought the skirt. He bought the stockings. He even bought the basketball jerseys. For fun.  Something to wear when his dad came around.

 

He got home in time for the steamed broccoli. Smashed potatoes. Really nice steak (for his mother, anyway). And the lemonade. Davey loved himself some fucking lemonade.

 

Davey Marchand was definitely walking on some sunshine right now. There was absolutely no reason to complain. About anything. Whatsoever.

 

His mom was quiet. Davey wasn’t a big talker, and she knew better than to pry by now, and Davey was so completely grateful for that.

 

He loved his mom, he really did. Like his father, she worried about him. A lot. But unlike his father, his mom wasn’t into pushing _him_. She let Davey push _himself_ , and whatever that step across convention ended up being, Ms. Marchand was always there to support him.

 

After dinner, he showed her the skirt. Right off the bat. No use beating around the bush. No use being coy about it.

 

And she absolutely loved it.

 

“Davey!” “Good choice, Davey. You did well, son.” “I’m serious.” “I’m absolutely serious. Nice, clean, classic, conservative.” “You nailed it, dear.”

 

And then came the camisoles, and the pair of good stockings,

 

and for once Davey felt like he had done something right in his life.

 

///

 

FIN

 

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? I tried to keep it short and sweet.
> 
> Feedback would be much appreciated. 
> 
> So I know what to work on in the future.


End file.
